Chapter Nine #3
The guard relaxed once the brewer had disappeared. His grip on her arm loosened slightly. “Who are you?” he asked Bronwyn.
“Nobody.”
“You’re brave, I’ll give you that.” He looked at her mouth. “You all right?”
Bronwyn nodded. She could feel her cheek stinging.
There was a commotion. Voices raised. She looked back as the guard, Peter, and Sister Rebecca marched back at spearpoint.
“There were more. Where are they?” the guard asked.
“Meeting the others outside. They’ll be rounded up in no time,” the other guard said.
“You rat. You crossed us,” Sister Rebecca said. She looked ready to lunge at Peter but stopped short at the sight of the other guard’s spear. “Why?”
“I know where my loyalties lie. You chose the wrong side.” Peter turned to the guards. “Lock them up in jail. The queen will know how best to deal with them.”
Bronwyn gritted her teeth and looked longingly at the sword on the ground.
“Don’t get any wise ideas,” Peter said.
“Come on.” The guards took them through a corridor and down, belowground to where the air was dank and dark, and the trickle of water could be heard.
They were hustled out into the streets and marched through at spearpoint, where Bronwyn quickly looked around for Sister Joan, Lady Alice, and Mistress Agatha, but she didn’t see them.
Maybe they’d gotten away. That gave her hope as she and Sister Rebecca were pushed along.
She glanced from left to right. Was there any way she could escape and try to rescue the others later?
“Oi. Don’t get any wise ideas,” one of the guards said, prodding her in the back with a spear.
Bronwyn kept her head down but still looked for possible escape routes. There was so much chaos around them, surely one could slip away in all the fighting…
Sister Rebecca clutched at Bronwyn, grasping at her arms and holding her fists tightly. “I’m frightened. But we must be strong. Together, we will survive this.”
“Yes, we will, Sister.” All thoughts of escape left Bronwyn’s head.
Soon, she recognized the way. “Wolvesey Castle?”
“It’s where the queen is. She’ll want to see her prisoners.” The brewer sneered.
The women were marched through an impressive gate, past dozens of men who were either tired, injured, taking prisoners, or fighting. Once inside the walls of the castle, they were led through a large courtyard.
Bronwyn looked around for any sign of Rupert but didn’t see any. Any thoughts she had were drowned out by the clatter of horse hooves striking the ground as groups of knights rode by, and small contingents of armed men with pikes and spears marched after them.
Bronwyn looked up, and saw rows of archers stood on the parapets, arrows trained on them, some watching, some not.
There was no quiet to be had, as men in the courtyard either marched to barked orders, called out, or ignored the cries of the wounded and dying.
The sounds of the dying men threatened to tear her heart out, and she blinked back tears.
This war was a grisly business, at the cost of human lives.
The air was filled with smoke that made her throat close up and her eyes water, and she pulled her left hand away from Sister Rebecca’s to cough.
They were near groups of men, lying wounded, while others staggered to rest and some simply died where they lay, as far as she could tell.
These men needed medicine, doctors, nursing.
She could help. But that wasn’t to be. Past the chapel, they went, and into a building, down a series of stone steps that led to a prison.
Bronwyn breathed in a large gulp of air as they entered an area that was instantly cooler and free from the smoke outside. Stepping inside the jail, Bronwyn found the area dark and moist. The scents of mildew, water rats, and rancid straw mingled, assailing her nose.
The guards kept the women up at spearpoint. Above them were the sounds of men fighting, the screams and cries of people dying. Bronwyn knew that sound would haunt her dreams. She was shoved into a cell along with Sister Rebecca, and the door locked behind them.
Outside the cells, she heard Peter the brewer say, “Oi, what are you doing? I’m not with them. I’m innocent. Hey!”
There was a short scuffle and then the sound of a man’s body hitting the floor.
Sounds echoed down in the cells. With the iron creak of a cell door shutting, Peter banged on the bars and called out, “You’re making a big mistake.
I’m innocent! I was simply escorting the prisoners, same as you. Let me out.”
Bronwyn snorted. At least Peter wasn’t walking around free, either. That made her feel relief in her belly. Then she heard a gasp and looked closer into her cell.
Lady Alice stood huddled in the corner, shivering.
“Bronwyn,” Lady Alice said, quickly enveloping her in a tight hug. “I didn’t know if I’d see you again—or anyone else, for that matter. I thought you might be dead. What on earth possessed you to pick up a sword, anyway? You’re no fighter.”
I am. You just don’t know it, Bronwyn thought.
Bronwyn clasped Lady Alice back and then stepped away. “I’m glad you’re alive.” And in that moment she realized, she really did mean it. Despite their often petty squabbles, she really did view Lady Alice as a friend, even if she was a noblewoman and Bronwyn was not.
Bronwyn gripped the iron bars of the cell and looked up at the ceiling, where the floors shook from the shuddering stamps of many hundreds of footfalls of booted warriors.
She looked over at the next cell but couldn’t see past the bars.
They were separated by a stone wall. There was no light. Only torches lit outside it. “Hello?”
Sister Joan whispered back. “Yes? I’m here with Mistress Agatha.” The young nun reached out a hand through the bars, and Bronwyn had just enough space to grasp it. They held hands, and Bronwyn bowed her head and closed her eyes, as the nuns began to pray.